


my guiding beast

by cesellia



Series: silent black birds [1]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: (but like for emotions), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Dacryphilia, F/M, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, Mildly Dubious Consent, the corruption arc alina deserved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesellia/pseuds/cesellia
Summary: Alina laughed — laughed because it was the only thing that stopped her from crying. “Are you trying to say you are the best suitors out of the three?” The laughing devolved into a harsh fit of dry coughs that left her voice unsteady when she continued, “Being with you would turn me into a monster. I can’t...I don’t want that to happen.”“Is that whatyoudon't want, or is it whattheydon't want to happen?” asked Aleksander.Alina tried to pretend to be a good person, but the hum inside her head only ached for more.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Series: silent black birds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066439
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	my guiding beast

**Author's Note:**

> before anything, i just want to say fuck my writing app for not carrying over several thousand words italicise and making me manually have to turn them into italics 
> 
> this fic truly goes out to bloodborne, a game i have never played, for having a sick ost and keeping my motivation up enough to finish this fic, which i would have certainly have not if it wasn't for that
> 
> this was originally only to be a 4k fic, but my intense emotions and opinions on this series got the best of me

Alina wished she could say, without a doubt, that she was a good person.

It was not as if she was _trying_ to be bad — one look at her in the war room discussing the next tactical operation with an intense expression on her face was enough to prove that. But there was a hum, distant and melancholic, that resided in her — whether it originated from Morozova’s amplifier or deep within her childhood she did not know. On an average day, she would never realise it was there, but other days, it rang through her ears with an intensity she was sure to cause her to bleed. The hum’s message was always the same: she needed to become more than what she pretended to be.

Light rose from Alina’s fingertips and flew into the sky in a majestic light show. The five children that joined next to her by a dark oak tree gaped in amazement before bursting out into laughs and clapping. No matter how grim the war became, the children of the Little Palace were always there to ground her from the evergrowing anxiety billowing in her chest.

But those same children were a cause of great sadness inside her as well. Alina knew full well what war did to children, how it tore them apart from their families and forced them to mature far faster than they ever should be able to. In four months, the same little boy with dotted freckles all over his face sitting across from her could turn into another lifeless husk running away to a safety that no longer exists — dirt and grime covering his face, hair dishevelled and unwashed, dried blood from his mother’s injuries stained on his once pristine white blouse.

“Miss Sankta,” a child pulled on her sleeve after the light fell from the sky and sizzled into the grass around them, “Do, um, do all Sun Summoners have such pale skin?”

Alina pleasantly smiled and answered, “Oh, I wouldn't know. I never met another of my kind, but I _do_ know,” she ran her fingers through the child’s tight red curls, “That I used to have beautiful, glowing skin like yours. You see, when you are as busy as me, you don't get time to enjoy the sun every afternoon.”

The child giggled with their face scrunching up as the loud bell for afternoon classes rang through the courtyard. The children pulled themselves off the ground and one by one said their goodbyes to her before running away to their respective classes.

A roll of thunder echoed through the darkening sky — a single droplet of rain hitting her cheek as the cool breeze ran through her tense body until it relaxed against the ground; her head rested against the oak tree.

Ever since Alina arrived in Os Alta, her strength took a turn for the worst. The amplifiers coursed soothing, _powerful_ light she did not think possible through her blood when the Sea Whip’s Fetter became a part of her, but without an exit, that light turned into the glass shards that were so minuscule you could not pick them up. The power it gave her was meant for far more than just light shows for curious children, and by not using it to its full potential, it was beginning to kill her.

The corners of her eyes blurred and darkened with every passing day. Black lines danced across her vision and pulsating circles grew larger and larger until it was impossible for her to concentrate on the matters at hand — be it an interesting book with small hand scripts or a meeting with the military officers. Those who surrounded her noticed the decline in health. They did not dare speak a word of it, but the sideway glances and the concerned expressions said it all.

Alina wished she could put their minds at ease and tell them it was because she had not been eating correctly, but she spent the majority of her life on the brink of illnesses and malnourishment to know that whatever was eating away at her body was not that. Her legs could no longer properly hold up whatever weight there was left on her body. Every morning was a living hell in terms of getting up and moving her arms to dress herself. On the mornings it was especially difficult to the point where her arms grew numb and red, she would consider asking Tamar to help her, but the embarrassment of just thinking to ask her was too overwhelming for her to ever go through with it.

Her body decayed a little quicker every day as she struggled to go about her daily life. The light inside wanted to burst into the sky; to burn and etch itself into every small thing it touched; to flood the entirety of the world with her light.

The droplets of rain grew painful against her skin like needles puncturing through with little grace so that blood came rushing in. Her eyes fell to her hands that felt the rain’s wrath to the greatest degree.

_No blood_ , Alina thought, her head tilted to the side. It amazed her how much pain her body could go through without even a pinch of blood being spilt. She stayed like that for only a moment — swallowed up by the pain’s gentle coercion to rest — before snapping out of the haze to realise she was _drenched_ in cold water.

Water splashed behind her as she ran for the Little Palace’s cover. The familiar black void invaded her vision with sparks of greens and purples when she made it inside to safety, leaning her shoulder against the window as her breathing struggled to steady itself. That was another problem; she lost all of the stamina she used to possess, putting her at the disadvantage in the event of an attack on Os Alta. A problem that needed to be resolved, but with every new pain introduced, it became increasingly difficult to find the strength to at least _numb_ the problem.

Alina made note to apologise to the cleaning staff as she squeezed and twisted her kefta to release it of all the water soaked into it. A freezing took over her, bones clattering against each other with each tremble, and she could not be held responsible for leaning into the warm, ghost-like touch of the invading presence behind her.

“A Sun Summoner should take better care of herself.” Aleksander whispered into her ear, a hand firm on her shoulder and the other travelling down to her protruding ribcage — pressing down with just enough force to constrict her breathing. “You grow weaker every day as your power continues to evolve and become stronger. I can not help but think that you are harsh to yourself on purpose. Now, what could possibly be troubling my little Saint into causing herself harm?”

“I do nothing of the sort,” Alina snapped. His hand was still tightly pressed down on her and any attempt to keep a calm, stoic voice turned into a pained murmur and a struggle to keep her breathing steady.

“You don’t?” he questioned, tilting her head to the side to press his lips where the _nichevo’ya_ had left their bite on her shoulder — pain trickling down her body from the sensation, “Alina, that trick of yours might work on your little... _plaything_ , but not on someone who knows you the way I do.”

_The way I do_. Her face heated with anger at that comment — not because it was false but because it was the truth; that much was obvious to both of them when he kissed the wound and she did not even attempt to break away from him. A truth she would refuse to ever admit aloud.

Alina gritted her teeth and spoke with a faltering resolve, “You know nothing about me.”

A hand gripped her chin to force her head up to look at Aleksander — cold, grey eyes staring down at her before a smirk spread across his face as he replied, “There is no reason for you to lie to me. Not when you have always been so poor at lying.”

He spun her around, and she held on to the last thread of strength to not relax into his warm embrace. “I can name every one of your desires just by the glimmer in your eyes,” Aleksander said, pressing her into a short, effective kiss — a hand against her neck to ensure she made no attempt to escape him, “And I could bring them all into fruition. All you have to do is end this play pretend with Lantsov and the kingdom.”

“I _can’t_ do that,” Alina hissed, “I owe everything I have to —”

Her voice fell silent as she heard frantic footsteps behind her, and the voice of Tamar calling for her.

Aleksander sighed, unable to hide his frustration, and whispered in her ear one last time before he disappeared, “We will continue this later.”

Alina was still in a daze from the interaction when Tamar and Mal flooded her vision. “We’ve been looking all over for you,” Mal scratched the back of his head as he explained, “Nikolai called us all in for an urgent meeting.”

Tamar’s eyes slowly examined her tangled hair and drenched kefta. She sighed, “I got this. Mal, go on ahead to the war room. I’ll help her into something _dry_.”

The sound of rain outside harmonised with the ambience within the corridors as Tamar held on to Alina’s shoulders to push her along to her bedroom. “Why did you look like...well, like _that_ when we found you?”

Alina tilted her head and asked, “What do you mean?”

They slipped into the room and Tamar helped her out of the kefta as she continued, “You looked to be in some sort of trance,” a slight grin pulled on her lips, “Your face looked similar to how you would stare up at Mal before we arrived here. Thinking of a certain someone?”

A sigh escaped her mouth and Alina answered, “I’ve had a long day.”

A skirmish between Second Army and _oprichniki_ soldiers broke out the previous night. Of the fifteen soldiers sent out on a mere scouting mission, only four returned. Their opposing force had been quietly treading closer to Os Alta, and no one could find a decent strategy to push the Darkling’s forces back.

Alina did not offer as much as a single comment through the entire meeting. In fact, ten minutes in, she was unaware of the discussion taking place around her; of the yelling generals and officers who were stressed out of their minds.

A scream from within rang between her ears; vision blurred as she struggled to keep up with who was talking. A red-headed man — no, a brunet — yelled to an officer that their idea would decimate their troops currently on the field. Her hands would not stop shaking, and she dug her nails into the wooden chair she sat in to try and hide her health’s declination. Another man screamed, and she was certain her head might truly explode.

No one attempted to include Alina in the meeting — or maybe they did, and she just had not notice; someone could have yelled directly in her face and she would not have known. The meeting carried on until nightfall, everyone cleared out of the room long before she did.

Mal was next to her, squeezing her hand with reassurance when her tired eyes met his. “Come eat dinner with us,” he suggested, “You look like a rabid fox that hadn’t eaten in five days.”

“More or less,” sighed Alina, “I’ve dealt with more than enough things today. I just...need to rest.”

With a frown on Mal’s face when they came to her chamber door, she reached up to him and placed a kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Mal.”

Whatever plans Alina had to go to sleep burned to ash when she collapsed on to the bed that felt to be made out of nails instead of feathers. She laid tossing and turning, replaying the conversation she had with Aleksander over and over again in her head until the question entered her mind: what did _she_ want?

She knew what Mal and Nikolai wanted for her. Kill the Darkling and destroy the Fold; become the queen of Ravka; become a wife that takes care of children while her husband went on hunting trips with his army friends. It seemed so simple of an answer but the question continued on. Did she reciprocate? Was killing the man responsible for Ravka’s destruction even what she wanted?

An aching shot through her head. Of course that’s what she wanted. Ravka was her home, and a few gentle whispers and kisses on her skin would not tear her away from her goal. She was the only one who could save Ravka — was _born_ to save Ravka. But why did her heart continue to twist and give out at the thought of it all?

Alina knew she was not a good person, that much was clear the moment she debated whether or not she wanted to continue down this path in saving Ravka. But she liked to pretend that wasn’t the case.

Hours went by before sleep finally found her and plunged her into a painful, dreamless void.

It was late into the afternoon before Alina woke up — Mal’s hand pressed against her forehead with a sad smile on his face, “Your skin’s on _fire_. I sent Tamar to go fetch you something to calm the fever.”

The sunlight poured in through the windows, and it was _burning_ into her eyes as if she had gone hours without blinking. “You didn't need to do that,” Alina muttered as she pushed herself up on to her elbows, “I’m good and well.”

A bitter, humourless laugh escaped from Mal. “Look at yourself, Alina,” he spoke, “You can hardly hold yourself up _and your skin_. I thought seeing you whiter than white was bad, but you are literally _red_. I can’t let you out like this.”

Alina did not try to respond; she didn't have the energy. Her elbows gave out and her body fell awkwardly back down on to the mattress — like an infant trying to stand up far before their legs knew how to carry their weight. Staring up at the ceiling, she watched the dust dance gracefully across the room, illuminated by the light creeping in.

The silence between them carried on longer than she could tell, broken by Mal shifting uncomfortably in the chair next to her as he finally asked, “Yesterday — when me and Tamar found you — were you with him? The Darkling?”

Alina slowly turned her head to face him, an expression on his face telling all that he would feel if she spoke the truth. A brief silence before she shook her head, “Why would you think that?”

“You just,” he paused, pulling at a string on his uniform, “I’ve never seen you with that expression before. It was like you were terrified but also...there was something else there I couldn't place. It didn't look natural.”

“I was just deep in thought yesterday. It’s hard — not getting tied up in thoughts while the entire future of a nation rests on your shoulders.” Alina forced a smile on her face.

“Promise me, Alina,” Mal leaned forward, taking her hands into his, “Promise me that if he ever tries to visit you again, you will tell me.”

“I promise,” she responded, “Without hesitation.”

He gently cupped her cheek to kiss her, but Alina pushed him away at the chest — a more natural smile playing on her lips as she spoke, “You don't want to get sick as well, do you?”

“You’re right,” a blush bloomed on his face as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, a subtle sigh of relief when Tamar quietly entered the room, “I wish I could stay here and keep you company, but you know how antsy the soldiers are,” he chuckled with malice, “Nikolai seems to think that keeping them company during their hunts and trying to get them to learn how to track is going to boost their morale.”

“Have fun.” Alina laughed as he exited the room, knowing from the sour look on his face that that would not be the case, the laugh quickly devolving into a fit of course coughing that strained her throat.

In an instant, Tamar was by her side, pressing a hot teacup into her hands, “Drink this. It's olive leaf. It will help with the cough and fever.”

With one sip, Alina nearly spat it out, but with Tamar next to her, gently caressing her back, she decided against it for the sake of keeping her civil — forcing a smile. “Thank you,” she pointed towards the bookshelf behind her, “There should be a dozen or so books over there relating to Morozova. Could you bring them to me?”

“ _Moi soverennyi_ — Alina,” Tamar frowned, “You got sick in the first place because of overexertion. You _need_ to rest and not think about the war or Morozova.”

_It was worth the shot_ , Alina sighed, slowly crawled back underneath the silk covers that offered her no comfort. The fever burned deep into her skin, but the thought of having her body exposed felt more sickening than the actual sickness.

Her head ached, and Tamar’s silence from the far side of the room was a relief to her. She despised being taken care of. Since childhood, Mal was always the one to take care of her whenever she was hit with a cold and birthed the shame she felt now whenever someone had to take care of her. She was powerless, stripped of all strength she possessed and left to be treated like a child.

Alina knew what the alternative was: continue trying to work until the body completely gives out, and she passes out on the hard marble floor — trickles of blood dripping from where she unfortunately hit her head. And somehow, that felt more ideal than _this_. At least then, she was still _trying_ to accomplish her work.

But there was no use in picking an argument over the matter. Instead, she laid there — consciousness fading in and out with a varying degree of sweating and burning each time. Figures grew in the corners of the room and faint noises of both singing and screaming echoed across as hypnagogia bled into an erratic state of empty dreams.

It was mere minutes or several hours before Alina felt the shift in the world’s atmosphere followed by a comfortably cold hand brushing against her forehead.

She did not dare look at him, pulled her head away from him and muttered quiet enough so that only the two of them could hear, “Not now. Can’t you see that I’m miserable enough without you here?”

Aleksander pulled on her feverish cheek to force her to look at him. With the sunlight seeping in, Alina realised what she never could have figured out in the dark — how _perfect_ he harmonised with the rest of the room’s atmosphere. Her trinkets and herself more of an intruder than anything else. She dug her nails into her palm at the realisation that that would make _her_ the intruder in _his_ bed.

“I only came to see how you were feeling,” Aleksander spoke in a quiet tone to match hers — a cadence that sounded almost _sad_ to her, “Believe it or not, but I _do_ care about your wellbeing, Alina.”

Alina bit her lip to keep herself from laughing — or screaming. “You _care?_ You cared about me when you threw me down in that ship? When you forced this collar around my neck?”

She could feel blood gathering where her nails dug into as she struggled to keep her voice low, body trembling with anger when he pressed his thumb against her chapped lips. The pleasant smile on his face more than enough to tempt her into using every last remaining power inside her against him.

“I would never cause you the slightest of pain unless it was a necessary step for the war to be won,” Aleksander said, hand resting on her cheek to ensure she did not look away, “If winning the war meant killing or hurting your _otkazat’sya_ , would you do it?”

“I would never have to do something like that.” remarked Alina.

“You can not be so certain,” he replied, clicking his tongue after a pause, “In many cases, soldiers have to choose between their country or their love. But that will not be the case here,” he leaned in close, taking in every little detail of her expression before kissing her, “I will have both you and Ravka.”

Alina did not push him away; did not dare to even look at him for fear of what she would see — what she would _feel_. She searched inside herself to find any feeling of anger or fear to latch on to, but there was nothing to dig up. And the unfamiliar emotions that remained buried deep within her shined through. She could not hate Aleksander, and she hated herself for that.

“Why me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“Would it be believable to say I love you?” he smiled, “Immortality is a long time, Alina. I have seen enough deaths that would break the minds of the strongest war generals. It’s not something you get used to. And I would rather spend that time with someone like me instead of alone with an elderly lady that likes to hit people with her cane.”

Alina opened her mouth to speak but no words came out — there was nothing for her to say. She wanted to dig her nails deep into her skin and tear away the flesh for her to even entertain the possibility that what was being said to her was true. It wouldn’t have been the first time Aleksander lied to her, and she had no reason to believe it would be the last.

Aleksander pulled his hand away from her, and the burning of the fever instantly spread across her face again. “I will be waiting for you when you are ready to talk,” he said, “You know how to find me.”

“ _Wait!_ ” She reached her hand out towards him, but the connection had already been untethered.

“ _Moi soverennyi._ ” Alina forgot entirely about the other person in the room, now taking her hand into hers. “Is everything alright?”

Her eyes were still wild and peeled open as she tried to formulate a response, “F...Food. I, um, I haven’t eaten anything today. Could you get that for me? Anything — anything is fine.”

A frown formed on Tamar’s lips, and Alina could not help but sink further down into the bed — she never was a good liar. But her guard did not comment on it. Instead, she bowed and hastily went to retrieve something for her to eat.

It was a bowl of oatmeal and elderberry tea. “You might have dodged this bullet if you ate more,” said Tamar as she handed the food to her, “Even Grisha need more than a piece of bread and caffeine to stay alive.”

Taking one bite into the oatmeal made Alina regret ever asking Tamar for food. It was too warm and too nauseating, but the alternative was beratement so she forced it down her throat with a sour expression. “Are there any updates on what’s happening outside?”

“Maybe,” Tamar answered, leaning into the chair beside her, “But I won’t tell you either way because I know it will cause you to start stressing over the war when you _should_ be resting.”

“I’m your superior.” Alina clenched the spoon in her hand with an unnecessary amount of force as she spoke.

“And my superior is currently melting in below zero temperatures.”

She did not try to argue — mainly because her throat could not handle the pressure of even whispering — and then the evening passed by with silence between them. A book about the legends of the constellations laid open on her lap. A pegasus banished from the family for their sins; a child crying from the loss of her family; a tale of the void and how it swallowed up every dead constellation and left the ones alive to live in fear for eternity.

No matter how long her eyes fixated on the words and illustrations, Alina’s mind was far too distant to focus on the story.

The war had to end — she _wanted_ it to end, but the growing emptiness in her heart scared her for what would follow. A month with minimal use of her power’s potential left her weak and aching for _more_. What would a year after the war do to her? Five? Ten? An eternity? If she was to spend the rest of her life in a state like this, she thought it would not make a difference if she just laid there to rot and decay until death came for her.

Even in the event that her health improved, what would a life without war mean for her? The second her powers revealed themselves to her, Alina became a muse for war. She would never fit into a life of using her light to simply illuminate dark hallways at midnight. No matter the future, she would always want _more_ — to drown herself in her power’s light. That want came to her in the form of the hum, _begging_ her to swallow the world with every fibre in her being.

That day at the Fold, before the terror and deaths that followed, when her power intertwined with Aleksander’s and the darkness became brighter than the sun, the light replaced the blood in her veins and — for only that brief moment — she felt like the most powerful being in existence and she wanted _more_. That feeling that cascaded through her body at that moment ached through her body to this day. It was a feeling that would have killed even the most resilient drug addict.

Alina wanted the war to end, but a perverse longing to delve deeper into the chaos hummed gently to her. But what terrified her the most of her own feelings was that Aleksander knew this about her and would use that sinful flaw to turn her into a monster.

She clicked her nails on the empty teacup.

Night fell without notice — a single candle lit to show Tamar reading in the chair next to her. A small _tap_ followed when Alina shifted her way out of the bed, speaking when eyes looked up at her questioningly, “I’m getting a glass of water.”

Tamar closed the book. “I’ll get it for you.”

“No.”

“Alina —”

Her throat itched. “I can handle walking to the kitchen on my own without getting myself killed.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Tamar breathed, irritation hidden just below her voice.

“ _Then let me go._ ”

She opened her mouth to protest, but it turned into a deep sigh and she bowed her head, “Yes, _moi soverennyi._ ”

Travelling into the kitchen after the palace’s residents retired and the servants finished cleaning and putting up the porcelain dishes sent a feeling of unnatural dread down her spine. The oil lamps diminished; void of the lighthearted chatter between the servers and cooks. If the stories she read as a child were true, this would be the part where a poltergeist would manifest from within the water and eat her whole.

Of course, nothing emerged when Alina turned the faucet other than water colder than what she could stomach. She filled her glass to the brim before shifting out of the kitchen and into a darkly lit corridor — nosy servants peaking their heads from behind walls and scurrying away when they met her eye.

Rain crashed relentlessly down on to the pavement outside; peering through the windows, she could only see the faint glow of a streetlight shining through and the harsh movements of trees through the wind that stole their leaves and branches and tossed them into the air without care.

With her path illuminated by the light in her hand, Alina skipped returning to her quarters and chose to instead head for the library. It would not be long before Tamar realised what she had done, and the library would be the first place she checked. But the comforting warmth and the faint scent of citrus blurred her already clouded judgement.

No one came to the library after midnight, and so hiding would not be necessary. But she still climbed up the stairs to the second level despite her legs violent protestations. Between two bookshelves and obscured in the darkness, Alina nestled herself into a wooden chair that, having no cushions, only elevated the pain creeping over her back.

Her nails scratched at the glass of water in her hands. _It will be okay. You can leave whenever you want_ , she closed her eyes, _You can leave whenever you want._

A chilled breeze hit her cheek, and when she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the library.

There was a field in front of her that stretched on for miles — trees far and few between wildflowers of yellows and blues and the resilient vegetables that continued to grow long after the end of their service. The moon hung brightly above her, and the tension in her body would have eased if it wasn't for the presence that crept up beside her.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” said Aleksander, taking her cheek into his hand to have her look at him — crystal grey eyes and a pleasant smile that echoed of a mother’s cautionary tale, “After all, you never tried to initiate our little _meetings_ before. Perhaps you were too scared to try.”

Alina stepped back out of his touch. “You would have come to me if I hadn’t,” she replied, “At least we will have privacy this way.”

That smile grew. “Scared of what they might hear?”

“Scared that they will think I’ve gone insane and lock me away in my room until I’m better.” Alina coughed. The air was cold, and she regretted having worn nothing but the shift — her arms frozen and legs a burning red for having to carry more weight than they were capable of.

“Sit down,” Aleksander said, hands pressed against her shoulders to bring her against the tree behind them, joining next to her when she finally did sit, “And no matter the intensity of the fever, you are not doing your body any favours by wearing only _that_.”

“I wasn’t about to force my body into movements it couldn’t handle,” Alina snapped, rolling her head to the side to try and make out the blurry haze of the scenery around her, “And where are we?”

“Fort Misalov. It was instated two centuries ago but went abandoned after being attacked by the Shu Han,” Aleksander explained, “There is a lovely lake close by. I would take you there, but I doubt you would be able to stand the noise of drunk men fighting each other and throwing themselves into the water.”

Alina looked up at the sky. The stars were obscured by the growing darkness and feverish shapes in her vision and trying to focus in on them only made her head hurt worse than it already had. Instead, she focused on the blades of grass beneath her feet. If she applied enough pressure, she could feel the marble flooring of the library. _You can leave whenever you want._

A voice in her head told her to leave, warning her of what he would try and make her become if she stayed. Staying there with the enemy — not even _attempting_ to pry out all the information she could out of him — did nothing for her army. But the fever made her delirious and tired, and she could not help but find herself _wanting_ to stay. It was certainly better than being locked up in her bedroom for a week.

Aleksander chuckled. “I see they have been taking good care of you.” He took her arm into his hand, tracing a finger over blue veins that had not always been so noticeable. “In only a matter of a few weeks, you became paler and smaller than what could ever be considered healthy. And they did nothing, correct? They only intervened when you started being unable to properly stand up on your own.”

“It’s...only a cold,” she retorted, but the whisper and slight stumble in her voice made it to where no one could be fooled, “It’ll pass in a few days, and then I will be back to normal.”

“You won’t. It will only continue to get worse. By not using your powers the way it wants you to, you are letting it eat away at your body. It will only continue to eat until you become nothing more than a hollow shell of what used to be a human. You could survive centuries like that — maybe even a millennium — but you will wish you were dead within only a matter of months,” he smiled, “I would know that better than anyone else.”

Alina did not respond.

“What do you expect to happen if your side wins the war?” Aleksander asked. “Would you try and settle down with that _otkazat’sya_? Is being degraded into a housewife who looks over four slobbering children what you want? Or perhaps you will choose Lantsov and join a marriage that he is only interested in because it will only benefit himself. You would be left behind to become a hated queen for simply being Grisha,” after a pause to see if she would respond, he continued, “Both of your love interests will try to strip away the part of you that you care about the most. And everything you wish to aspire to be will never have a chance in happening.”

Alina laughed — laughed because it was the only thing that stopped her from crying. “Are you trying to say you are the best suitors out of the three?” The laughing devolved into a harsh fit of dry coughs that left her voice unsteady when she continued, “Being with you would turn me into a monster. I can’t...I don’t want that to happen.”

“Is that what _you_ don't want, or is it what _they_ don't want to happen?” asked Aleksander.

Her nails dug through the hem of her shift and into the flesh of her thighs as she struggled to find a way to put the thoughts circling inside her into words. She wanted to leave; to escape to a place where he could never find her, but to leave now would be a cowardly move to avoid a conversation that needed to happen.

Alina relaxed her hands and took a deep breath in. “If that really is the case — my power eating me alive —, it can’t be helped. I don't want to draw more attention to myself and end up chained to a cultist’s bed as they saw off my limbs and sell them at the marketplace. And it does not help that Baghra refuses to see me,” she paused to look down at her hands, surprised to see them steady, “I...I know the power is killing me. I feel it every time I light up a single finger so I can read at night without burning a candle or to sneak off in the middle of the night like I am now. But there isn’t anything I can do to stop it — not here, at least.”

She stopped there, afraid of what she might say if she allowed herself to continue. The voice in her head scolded her for showing weakness in a situation she should have never let herself into in the first place. But the thought of leaving now would cause her more pain than what was already coursing through her body.

Aleksander placed his hand against her clavicle, thumbing the stag’s bones as he spoke, “What do you know of Morozova’s collar?”

She gritted her teeth. “It turned me into your private property.”

He grinned. “It did the same thing to me,” his hands fell to grab hers, “Call the light to you.”

Alina obliged, a flickering light blooming between her fingers, and then it involuntarily moved towards Aleksander — trailing between his wrists before falling to the ground.

“Just as I can take control over fractions of your light,” he began, “You are capable to do the same with my shadows. Take control of my power, Alina.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on conjuring the shadows. An unnatural chill poured over her body — a warning that what she was attempting was not the intended use for Grisha power, and a fear set over her. Was this a trap? Would doing this bound her even more to Aleksander to the point of no escape? Would it kill her?

Her eyes shot open when she felt the darkness grow beneath her, climbing up the tree before collapsing and dissipating as her vision blurred and breathing quickened. What she attempted — what she could _do_ was unnatural; twisted; _evil_.

But Alina did not regret it. In her sickened state, it was the refresh she needed to begin healing. A sudden elation in the atmosphere that had surrounded her since she arrived in Os Alta, plagued by melancholy for not using her powers to their full potential. It was a cool stream that ran through her blood and promised her great strengths.

“I did it,” she whispered, eyes wild and lips creeping into a smile, “I can’t believe I actually did it.”

“Well done,” Aleksander returned the smile, a thumb rubbing against her knuckles as he continued, “That was the simple part. Now I want you to summon a _nichevo’ya_.”

Alina stared at him with disbelief. “No. I can’t,” she said, shaking her head, “I can’t do that. It’s impossible.”

“Three minutes ago you would have said the exact same thing about conjuring shadows,” he replied, “Try. I know you can do it.”

A ragged breath escaped from her lips. _It’s simple_ , she assured herself, _It’ll be just like summoning the shadow._

Unlike the shadows, summoning a _nichevo’ya_ was less exhausting and more detrimentally painful. Alina could feel her brain tightening and exploding into small pieces within her skull; nails hammering themselves into her throat where she tried to scream.

It took every fibre inside her to not close her eyes — she needed to see, needed the reassurance that she was not alone as the pain tried to swallow her whole. Her grip on the hands that did not leave her tightened. _I can do this. I’m not alone. I can do this._

Aleksander’s lips were just above her ear, whispering words to her which Alina could not hear. There was shrieking inside her mind that deafened her — shrieking that did not belong to her. She could feel the blood rushing down from her nose; blood from her lip where she bit to hold back the screams that threatened to escape.

_Stop_ , her body begged, but Alina ignored their pleas. Bones twisted and broke apart as a _nichevo’ya_ formed next to her — docile and investigating the earth around it like an animal thrown into unknown territory.

The pain did not reside. Her insides burned as if corrosive acids were forced down her throat. “It hurts,” Alina struggled to whisper, tears streaming down her cheeks no matter how hard she tried to keep them from shedding, “It hurts. _Oh fuck_ , it hurts.”

She collapsed in Aleksander’s arms, body trembling and limbs jerking and moving in motions they should have not been able to do. Tears fell freely as she hid herself against his shoulder, only able to speak the words _it hurts_ in her blubbery state — slowing declining into nothing more than an inaudible sob.

“You did an excellent job, Alina,” Aleksander quietly spoke, brushing his fingers through her hair to aid her body in relaxing, “You can stay here as long as you want.”

_You need to leave_ , the voice inside her head muttered, but Alina did not give the voice even the second of a thought. At that moment, she never wanted to leave; did not want to return to the palace where someone could see her — covered in her own blood and crying over a summoned creature that hardly knew how to walk; did not want to break from Aleksander’s embrace, no matter how twisted and sinful it would slowly lead her into becoming.

Just as the pain receded and her eyes fluttered closed, his hand scooped up her cheek to have her look at him as he spoke, “Know that you will have to choose what you wish to do soon. The future of Ravka depends solely on the path you choose to take,” a frown descended across his face, “I only hope you know which one is the right path.”

She did not trust herself to respond — resting her head back against his shoulder as their warm embrace lured her to sleep, knowing the hell she would put herself through when she wakes up for what she had allowed herself to do. But it did not matter to her at that moment — she felt safer there than she ever had behind Os Alta’s walls.

The violent shaking of her shoulders tore Alina awake and untethered to the connection. Tamar was staring at her, eyes showing her worried expression as she began to speak, “I was looking for you for _two hours_ ,” her finger ran across her upper lip where blood had dried, “And when I did, I couldn't wake you and you are _covered_ in blood.”

“I’m sorry,” Alina said, exhausted and still trying to process the world around her, “I came to the library...to grab a book and I sat down to rest my legs. I only meant to be gone for a few minutes. I must have just fallen asleep.”

Tamar frowned. “People don't just fall _that_ deep in sleep and just so happen to have blood all over them,” she took Alina’s hand and helped her to her feet, a firm hand around her waist to keep her from falling, “And we have all noticed how you’ve been looking...distant and detached at random times during the day. We ignored it because you're our superior, but with this sickness, we can’t take any risks.”

Alina turned to look at her and asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Tamar guided her down the stairs, “That you should stay at bed rest for the remainder of the week to ensure you _actually_ get better. Just take a glance at yourself, you looked healthier before you ventured out here.”

Alina rubbed her eyes as frustration ran up her body. “How many times will I have to tell you that I am fine? It is only a slight cold and will be gone in a day’s time. I _need_ to work. A little fever and a nose bleed won’t hinder my progress.”

“ _Moi soverennyi_ ,” Tamar began, keeping her voice low and gentle as to keep another argument from breaking out, “You’ve overworked yourself, be it the war or the search for the amplifier or from your powers, beyond what is safe since we got here. Taking this time off will do yourself a favour.”

Alina kept silent the rest of the way back to her quarters — only the sound of rain and footfalls between them. Tamar bowed her goodnight before disappointing off to her own room.

In there, she could only hear the rain and her heartbeat. Each beat was followed by a faltering beat that took two too many steps down the staircase. Exhaustion still hung heavy over her, but she needed to test the waters to see what was possible.

Situating herself atop her bed, Alina called the darkness to her. They showed themselves as stick-like shadows, climbing up the walls like vines invading a tree; they wrapped and twist around each other. She aimed for them to reach the ceiling, but the shadows suddenly fell back — and she did too.

Breathlessly, her body sunk into the bed and before another thought could be made, sleep overcame her in the form of a growing darkness she could not control, engulfing her and suffocating her until there was nothing left.

Lips between her eyes were what woke her up that next morning. A blurry figure slowly forming into a solid shape to reveal Mal, a huge grin plastered on his face as he spoke, “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

Alina rose to her elbows, the spine shrieking in pain and not allowing her to rise anymore. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, “What’s got you in such a happy mood?”

Mal sat at the edge of her bed and began, “Those soldiers ended up getting themselves too drunk and danced in the rain. Now they all have hypothermia, and I get to stay by your side more,” he looked at her with a slight frown, “Um...I’m sorry about this, Alina, but I’ve gotta come clean. You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” she punched him in the shoulder before letting herself fall back to the pillows, “You try raising an army and deal with powers nearing uncontrollable.”

“Can’t imagine it,” Mal leaned in close to her and the smile on his face disappeared, “Is that...blood?” he pressed his hand to the neck of her shift, “How did this happen?”

“Nosebleed,” Alina answered without hesitation, “My, uh, my nose started bleeding late last night, and I was too tired to properly clean the mess. Mal,” she took his cheek into her hand when she saw his eyebrows scrunching up in the way that showed he didn't believe in something, “Trust me for once. It was just a nosebleed. Nothing else happened.”

“Nothing with _him?_ ”

“No,” she lied and brought him closer to her to kiss him on the cheek, “I promised you, remember?”

She lied to him. Again. It made her heart ache and twist, but it was something she _had_ to do. Telling him about her encounters with Aleksander — just what they discussed would throw Mal into a frenzy, and then there would be no chance of her choosing the path she wished to take. Not if she _stopped_ him, but that would be out of the question. She made a mental promise to tell him when her mind came to a decision.

_Decision?_

There was no need for a _decision_. Alina cursed at herself for even entertaining the possibility of the second option being reasonable. She had to choose her friends — her _army_ over the enemy. That would save Ravka. But why did it still set a feeling of emptiness over her heart at the thought of staying where she was?

Mal kissed her forehead to pull herself out of her thoughts. “You think too much.”

A bitter laugh escaped from Alina. “I can’t help it,” she clicked her nails against each other, “Could you fetch me a cup of elderberry tea?” she forced a smile, “Tamar got me addicted to that stuff.”

He left, and she started burying herself deep within the blankets and pillows. She wanted to scream — or cry — or do _something_ that would relieve the unwelcoming tension growing inside her chest. There was a chance this was one of the final days before everything changed, and she was forced into bed rest.

_Stop that_ , Alina reminded herself. Nothing would change. Having even a fraction of Aleksander’s power could help her win the war, and so it would only strengthen her resolve of protecting Ravka from him — but it was for that same reason that she felt hesitant. That previous night with him was the most tranquil she felt in _weeks_. It felt more genuine than anything said in the war room. And it was there, in his arms, that she realised the truth she still refused to come to terms with: that being there with him was where she _wanted_ to be.

Alina hated herself. She was born to combat the darkness, and yet there she was — wanting to help spread that wickedness through the rest of Ravka and into the neighbouring nations. It would never be enough, however. The light did not come when she called, only brief sparks and hissing noises from where she tried to bring it. She would always want more.

There were no tears left to shed. All she could do was stare at the ceiling above her, detailing every intricate design that was hidden by the shadows. Mal never left her side that day, but he should have. The only thing she did was keep her eyes fixated on the ceiling, and only one thought ran through her head that day. _What am I becoming?_

It took another four days for the fever to finally recede. A loneliness ached in her heart. A loneliness formed from Aleksander’s absence. That aching only served as a grim reminder for what she was wanting to do — what she was _willing_ to do.

Tamar insisted on staying by her side that morning while helping her into the kefta that felt far too large on her body — commenting on how she swayed on unsteady legs.

Alina refused. She could not spend another moment relying on someone to be there to take care of her. Now, more than ever, she had to rely on herself. It would not be long before the allies surrounding her would become her enemies.

Nikolai was the one to accompany her for the great majority of the day. The lords and barons were pleased to find their Sun Summoner in higher spirits that day, choosing to hold a small get together at one of their estates in the morning — a strange decision on their part, considering the gathering was centred around kvas and various other alcohols.

The two of them remained wise and stuck to tea — passing glances at each other every time two drunken men started yelling over the other, struggling to hold on to the professionalism and not break into laughter at the scene before them. They left by midday and, with no other matters to attend to, went to sit by the small, perfectly blue pond that had flooded and turned into a dirty green colour.

“It amazes me how small you got in the span of five days,” Nikolai chuckled, wrapping his thumb and pinkie around her wrist, “I would ask for your permission to kiss you, but I fear I might catch the plague.”

“It’s a no either way,” Alina grinned, turning her attention to the cloudless sky, “What happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing of dire importance. We sent a unit of fifteen soldiers to a fort called Misalov on the promising intel from a local officer that a small fraction — about eight soldiers — from the Darkling’s forces is being housed there,” Nikolai snapped his fingers, “Oh, right. And General Barinov got into a fight with Galya yesterday during the meeting — he grabbed _her_ coffee and poured it all over her. It’s a shame you had to miss that. The floors are still sticky.”

_Misalov_. A sadness sat over Alina’s heart for those soldiers. It was clear to her that they did not know _he_ was there, and if he still was when they got to the fort, there would be no chance of survival for them. She wondered how long it would take for news of their deaths to travel back to Os Alta. A few days? Weeks? Could it even take a month?

Nikolai laughed and sat his hand on her back. “Tamar mentioned that you were doing that more often. Spacing out in the middle of a conversation,” he sighed and his expression turned serious, “Be wary of that, Alina. Someone could get the wrong idea from that. They could start spreading the possibility that you are not mentally healthy enough to run an army or even that your loyalties lay somewhere else.”

_That might be right,_ Alina dug her nails through her sleeve and focused on trying to stir the conversation away from that. There was a group of six children playing by the pond, pooling water into their hands to throw it at the others — smiles on their faces that made her sick to her stomach.

“I pity them. No child should have to grow up in a life like this,” she shifted her position on the bench, “They deserve a life without knowing the horrors of war. To wake up one day to find out their father or brother died is just...I don't know if I would be able to survive if I were in their position.”

“There is still time for them to live a full, rich and happy life,” reminded Nikolai, poking her in the chest, “And you will be the one to give them that bright future.”

_Bright future._ Alina bit back a bitter laugh. “I’m worried I’ll end up making a wrong decision, and the consequential suffering will be put on them. And I do not know if I can tell which of the two decisions in front of me right now is the wrong one.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know you will do the right thing. Ever since the beginning, you have always chosen the path to better the lives that reside here.”

“That is hardly the case.” commented Alina.

“We _will_ win, Alina,” Nikolai said, “We both know the horrors and repercussions of war, and that is what will bring us victory in Ravka. No matter the cost.”

She nodded and repeated after him in agreement, “No matter the cost.”

They parted ways shortly after — an officer asking Nikolai to join him in a “men only” meeting, something Alina was more than grateful to not be invited to. When she was not working, she spent most of her time thrusted into conversations she wanted no part of, the oh-so-lovely prince making note to drop subtle hints of an engagement that would never come to fruition.

No plans were made for that evening, and Alina decided to take that time to venture through the areas of the Little Palace that she never had the time to see. There was a mini theatre that could only situate twenty people; a hidden away bar; more drawing rooms than one can think of.

Hidden to where the average person could not find was a golden-centric drawing room; a chandelier placed haphazardly over the skylight; white chairs and sofas; detailed drapery with depictions of flowers threaded in; far smaller than the ones she was accustomed to on the ground floor. A beautiful sight at first glance, but one that quickly lost its charm and felt over the top.

Three servants scurried away like rats when Alina entered. It was an atrocious room, but it was one of the few rooms in the Little Palace that did not have lingering eyes or silent whispers _meant_ for her to hear. She was alone — a fact she had yet to decide whether to be a good thing or a bad thing.

Alina sat on the sofa closest to the fireplace, letting her head to fall into her hands. It was quiet. There was only the sound of crinkling fire to keep her from spiralling down the thousand-step staircase of her thoughts. She thought of nothing — only thoughts of the soft texture of the sofa and the light of the fire that reached her closed eyes. Even with the fire, her body was freezing. The thought occurred to her that she could possibly stick her hand inside and still feel cold.

She looked down at her hands; at her wrists where one bore the Sea Whip’s Fetter and one remained naked. _Incomplete_. Her hand wrapped around the bare wrist. _I will find it. I have to._

Three hours pass in a blur. Alina could only tell that time had passed due to the skylight revealing a starless night sky and the distant sound of drunk men laughing and talking louder than she could handle. She shifted out of the room before they could spot her and drag her into an uncomfortable conversation of how beautiful she looked to them and start asking her to provide ”entertainment” for them using her light.

(It baffled her how confident drunk men were with some of the things they would say and do.)

She travelled back to her quarters, the hand around her wrist now gripping tighter than she was consciously aware — a tickling numbness spreading to her fingers. Nervousness set in as it occurred to her what time it was; what she was about to do. Her grip tightened.

Alina twisted the handle to her door, but before she could open it, a hand grabbed her by the shoulder, and it took every last bit of strength to stay calm and not scream. Turning around quicker than her body appreciated revealed it to only be Mal.

“A guard said he would cover my shift for me. So, I thought you and me could go sneak off and eat —” Mal stopped, touching her cheek and frowning at her shaken expression, “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Alina answered too quickly, not having fully comprehended what he had said to her, “I have important matters to attend to before I do anything else. Um, you said something about eating, right? You’re better off going without me.”

“Come on, Alina, you’ve got to be joking,” replied Mal as he took her wrist into his hand, “Look at this. Your hand is a different colour than the rest of your arm. You...You look like you are about to walk yourself to the guillotine.”

_You wouldn't be wrong,_ she thought to herself. “There is something I need to do. Something important. I’ve forestalled this long enough.”

“...I understand.” he said, taking her cheek and pulling her into a short, brief kiss. She did not reciprocate; did not move a muscle — she was too full of shame for what she was about to do. It pained her to imagine how he would look at her afterwards. The disgust on his face as he asks her, _what did you do to yourself?_

They exchanged no further words — Mal disappearing to the banquet hall and Alina turning to Tolya to not allow _anyone_ inside to bother her. Her heart tremored as she locked the door behind her and returned to Aleksander.

She was in a baren, concrete-floored room with only boxes and barrels, a vast arsenal of muskets and grenades sitting on top of them. A breeze broke in through the cracks in the windows. Her hand was back around her wrist as she made eye contact with him, a burning sensation setting into her skin.

_Leave_ , her mind begged her as Aleksander approached her, _Save yourself and leave._

He caressed her cheek with a pleasant smile. “Have you made up your mind?”

For only a moment, there was a silence between them — a silence that made Alina aware of the sizzling noise, and she looked down to see her hand _burning_ through the skin of her wrist. She forced her hand away; forced her mind away from the pain as she looked back at him and finally spoke, “Fifteen soldiers. They sent a unit of fifteen soldiers last night to attack this fort.”

Aleksander’s smile grew. “Good girl,” he took her wrist and kissed the burnt flesh — Alina did not mind the pain that followed because she knew that that was what she _deserved_ , “I knew you would make the right decision. No matter what your little _otkazat’sya_ or prince tries to tell you, the only place you will ever belong is next to me.”

It was hard to breathe — hard to think of anything other than the peacefully menacing grey eyes looking at her with adoration and the crimes against her people she had just committed. The small voice in the back of her head telling her to run remained, but it was outshone by her desires and the hum ringing in her ears.

“Are you going to kill them?” whispered Alina.

“Yes,” he said and the smile faded with a sigh, “But I can understand why you would be against that, so I will let one or two —”

“Do not spare a single life,” she ordered, the words coming out of her mouth faster than her thoughts, “Drag their corpses to the nearest river. That way it will appear they died in a place different than where they were actually killed, and it will give you and your forces more time to move to your next location.”

“Careful, little Saint,” Aleksander chuckled, taking her by the burnt wrist and the nape of her neck and pulling her closer, “If you start thinking like that too often, you will become a monster.”

“I already am one. I just made myself forget,” Alina swallowed a lump in her throat, “For them.”

His grip around her wrist shot pain up her veins, and tears threatened to fall. But she would not let herself stoop that low anymore. If she truly was a monster, she could not let herself cry over minor injuries — especially the self-inflicted ones.

Instead, Alina wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. The world; the anxiety; the pain all faded away from her. She could — _wanted_ — to only feel him; the fingers rubbing the burnt skin; the tongue exploring and experimenting how far it could go down her throat; the hand on her back, keeping her pressed against his chest.She never wanted to leave, wanted to stay in that blissful state of ignorance forever. A secret place for only two of them.

However, it did not take long for Alina to pull away, gasping for air and her vision going black for only a moment. But the spell she put herself under already wore off — her mind flooding with images of floating corpses, burning buildings, mothers crying as they hold on to their children. She was still gasping for air, but now it was from uncontrollable sobbing, tears sparing her not even a moment to straighten herself up.

_What have I done?_ No matter how much she wiped her sleeve against her cheeks, they would not dry. _Oh god, what the hell have I done?_

“Alina, look at me,” Aleksander spoke — soft but stern —, prying her arms away from her face and smiling when her puffy red eyes met his, “Don’t ever hide yours tears from me,” he pressed his lips against her cheek, “You look so beautiful when you cry. I would hate to be unable to see you like this.”

He kissed away her tears with a tenderness Alina did not deserve nor want. She _needed_ for him to cause her pain; to cut and slice her flesh and stitch her into a better, stronger version of herself. And the softness of his touch was only tearing her heart into irreparable pieces.

“Save your tears for later,” said Aleksander, pulling away from her, “There are still matters I have to tend to tonight. Return to the Little Palace,” he placed a kiss on her forehead, “I will join you soon.”

And then the connection was severed.

Alina was back in her room — tear-stricken and an unrelenting pain in her wrist. Under the candlelight, she examined the wound, wincing at how _disgusting_ and wrong it looked in comparison with the rest of her body. But she would not have the eventual scar removed. She would keep it there — something as revolting as that was what she deserved to wear forever until death came for her.

Her lungs felt like they had been wrapped in barbed wire. She needed air and, quietly, exited out of her room. “I will only be walking the palace grounds,” she informed Tolya who still stood next to her door, “I just need to clear my head.”

He nodded, but Alina could feel his stare down at her wrist. “This is nothing. A miscalculation.”

She hurried outside where her lungs immediately began to thank her for the remedy. It was freezing cold, but standing underneath the oil streetlight offered some warmth and comfort through the newfound loneliness she felt.

(However, she was most certainly not alone. Given the dangers that lurk at nightfall, a guard trailed several feet behind her.)

Alina’s head rested against the streetlight, watching the world around her. An elderly lady wrapping her faded shaw over a small, coughing child as they hurried off to the safety of their house; a single bird landing on the bench across the street from her; three off duty guards singing with faces red from kvas.

It did not feel real — did not feel like the reality she was in. Everything moved at a slow pace to her, but the world had not changed. It continued on as if she had not just guaranteed the city’s destruction. As if she had not ensured the deaths of her own men. It felt almost cruel. Like every small thing around her was mocking and punishing her. And she could not say it was unfair.

_Do not cry_ , Alina. She wrapped her fingers around the wound, no longer wincing away at the pain. _This is what you chose. This is what will bring an end to the war in Ravka. So don't cry._

But the truth was, those tears that threatened to fall were not from shame or regret — not to the full extent, at least. It was a twisted happiness. A freedom Alina had not felt in well over a year now. It took all the strength she had to not laugh when she realised this. She was unsure if that _freedom_ she felt was just captivity taking the form of another side, or if it was truly genuine.

Alina did not know if she cared either way. Because _finally_ the hum was declining and the little voice judging her for every selfish move she made no longer spoke to her. She might have not been free from the war, but she was free from _herself_ and nothing felt better.

Her elation almost made her not notice Mal walking towards her, a smile on his face as he commented, “Look at you. Standing out in the freezing temperatures with a smile on your face. I thought I would never see this day.”

_Mal..._ There was a reason to feel shame. He had been her friend since childhood, and he never once abandoned her no matter the stupid or rash decisions she may have made. But what would happen if — _when_ he found out about her and Aleksander? Would he try to kill him, blinded by the idea that she could never turn sides? Would he follow the rebel forces and leave? Or would he stay, serving as her personal guard no matter the side? None of the possible outcomes gave her any sort of feeling of hope.

“We shouldn't be seen together in public.” Alina said plainly.

“It’s the middle of the night. Who’s gonna see us? And besides,” Mal pressed a neatly wrapped piece of gingerbread into her hands, “I don’t care. Spending one night together, holding hands, it isn’t going to cause a massive outcry in the public eye.”

When Alina did not respond, he continued with her hand in his, taking notice of the injury, “What the hell happened? Did...Did you do this?”

“It was an accident. I was so caught up on other matters that I didn't realise what I was doing,” Alina pulled her hand away, “But I think I will keep it. To serve as a reminder to not lose control over myself and my power.”

Mal laughed dryly, “You know, sometimes I can’t recognise you as the same little girl I grew up with.”

_That might be true_. The Alina he knew died that day at the Fold. She found out what she truly was that day, and it was not some simple soldier who assisted a cartographer. Even looking in the mirror showed a different person from a year ago. Those tired, gleeful eyes and awkward smiles passed when sleep-deprived soldiers tried to make unwanted advances on her in the tents — those were all gone. She was a Sun Summoner and a Saint. And a good one at that, she has come to admit.

“Oh, don't look so sad,” Mal patted her head, “I know the truth. Deep down, you are still that boney child who would accompany me in hiding under the dining table and eat sugar far past our bedtime.”

He leaned in to kiss her but stopped when she took one sharp step back; he stuffed his hands in his pockets and spoke, “If you plan on continuing to run an army, you should at least look the part and eat once in a while.”

Mal left, and Alina was alone again. The gifted gingerbread helped to warm her cold, numbing fingers, but like most things, it ended up thrown away before she had the chance to eat it.

She returned to her bedroom after that, finding Aleksander to already be there waiting for her — legs crossed as he sat in her chair. She slowly closed and lock the door behind her, darkness invading the room but she did not need the light to find him.

Alina was halfway there before he stood up and closed the distance between them for her. Her heart pounding out of her chest as his hands trailed down to her waist.

“Having any second thoughts?” asked Aleksander.

She gulped back the trembling in her voice, “None.”

“You know there is no reason to try and lie to me.” Alina felt his breath trickle down her neck. “Just as I know your every desire, I know every lie you tell yourself and to others.”

Her legs threatened to give out under the rising anxiety, and his grip around her waist tightened as she struggled to respond, “Make me forget. Make me forget why we ever fought — why any of this is even happening,” she rested her head against his chest, “Have the _nichevo’ya_ tear into me or do it with your own teeth, I don't care. I just want to forget it all.”

Aleksander pulled her by the chin, her able to just barely make out his soothingly sinful eyes in the moonlight, “Is that what you really want?”

“It’s what I need.”

His fingers played with the buttons of her kefta. “You might scream.”

“That won’t be an issue,” said Alina, “I’ve had my fair share of night terrors that they wouldn’t be put off by a few screams in the night.”

She pulled every last bit of strength she had to try and keep her body from trembling, but that was impossible as the kefta slipped off from her shoulders and he brought her deeper into the darkness.

The sun had yet to rise that next morning, and neither of them had left or gone to sleep — Alina picking at a loose thread in the blanket, and Aleksander’s hands aimlessly running through her hair as he stared ahead, eyes cold and calculating.

She realised how lonely life in the Little Palace would be from now on. Everyone she surrounded herself with was now her enemy — the one person she could ”trust” (seeing him as such still felt too foreign to her) was a hundred miles away on the other side of the nation.

But now, more than ever, Alina had to continue acting normal for their plan to work. Her finger wrapped around the piece of thread as she went through her schedule for that day — listening to Nikolai talk to Lord So-and-So and his third wife from nine to eleven; meeting on war efforts at twelve; dinner with three generals at seven; and another marriage proposal two hours after that. A normal, but stressful day — which brought her an iota of relief.

“Your soldiers are expected to be arriving here by midday.” said Aleksander, and her breathing stopped.

It hurt less not knowing their faces, but not knowing their names — Alina could not bear the idea of the unlucky soldier whose presence was unaccounted for; their family never knowing what happened to their child; spending weeks to even years trying to find evidence of their last whereabouts; their bones unceremoniously left in a potters field.

And what if it had been her? There would have been barely any people to mourn her if she had not been the Sun Summoner. Mal would have never lost hope that she was alive, searching through every newspaper article and every village to find her, unable to accept the fact that she was dead. But other than him, there would have been no one. She would have only been another in a long line of missing and presumed dead soldiers.

Aleksander pulled her by the nape of her neck into a kiss, whispering, “Stop thinking.”

Alina rested her forehead against his. “I wish it could be that simple. No matter what I do, I keep thinking about what will happen.”

“In a matter of months, the deaths of a handful of lowly soldiers won’t hang over your shoulder,” he assured her, fingers massaging her back to have her body relax against his, “All of the new deaths will fade in with the old ones. Your heart will learn to harden and become distant from it all. That is how we survive war.”

Soon, the sun rose over the horizon, and Alina went through with her errands.

Brunch was a disaster — the lord’s wife throwing a fit over dessert when he mentioned his previous wives, her threatening to divorce him before stomping away and leaving her and Nikolai to sit through an uncomfortable conversation of how much he hated ”that filthy bitch”. The war meeting discussed all of their soldiers currently out on the field, and Alina struggled to not show her growing sickness at the mention of it all, reminding herself what this was all for. A dinner she did not last thirty minutes in before getting sick. Violent images of the deaths _she_ ordered; their bodies floating in a river stained red with their blood.

Alina stood outside in the corridor, back against the wall as her body was certain to collapse otherwise. _I need to get stronger,_ she kept reminding herself, nails digging into the burnt flesh until trickles of blood stained her fingertips, _The deaths of few are vital to ensure Ravka a bright future._

She would not cry. The blood spilt would only make her resolve into winning the war stronger. She had to believe in that because it was the last thread remaining before she would lose her sanity.

Blood from her nails dripped down to her kefta. No more would she allow herself to do this; to run off somewhere to cry and feel bad for herself. Any amount of slipping up or being caught off guard could put everything she was working towards into jeopardy.

The pain around her wrist settled and stung. Alina would have to become the Saint they all wanted her to be — beautiful smiles, eloquent conversations, an ethereal essence no normal person could have. She needed to gain their utter and complete trust if she was to betray them.

She wiped the blood away and sent Tolya to send a message to Nikolai and the generals, apologising for leaving so abruptly — that the seafood had not sat well on her stomach, but that she could arrange a proper dinner with them the following weekend when their schedules aligned.

_This is it,_ Alina thought to herself, _There is no turning back now._

A month came and went, and it was on that final day that the soldiers’ bodies were finally found twenty miles east from where they had been going. The general consensus was that it was the Darkling’s doings, but now they were faced with the problem of where he actually was and when would be the next attack.

Everything began to fall into place. Alina’s health improved; the generals warmed up to her and requested more and more time with her; Mal grew distant from her, at her request. It was eating him alive, but it was for his own good — as well as her own. And she would have been lying to say what she was doing wasn't _fun_.

The sneaking around with Aleksander; the whispers in her ear during war meetings; watching the faces of the generals as they find out every plan, every strategy, was failing — and it was all because of her. It was certainly twisted, but she still found herself smiling and holding back laughter every time she went to feed new information to the opposing force.

Another month went by. Everyone began to wear down, stress and exhaustion melting away their energy and once enthusiasm. More soldiers went missing during missions only to be found dead a week later far from the path they were ordered to take. But Alina was surprised, even as things began to look grim, no one ever suggested to surrender. They were all certain to continue fighting until the last man died.

And then there was Nikolai. It would have been a lie to say she did not feel bad for him when she visited his study one night — dishevelled hair, strained eyes staring at maps and letters from guards stationed along every major road in Ravka. The war was wearing him down, and only then did Alina feel bad for what she did.

“You shouldn’t worry, Nikolai,” said Alina, hands resting on his shoulders, “Or at least you shouldn't _look_ worried. Everyone is already stressed and having their Lantsov show it too will plummet their morale. They all rely on you to keep themselves going.”

“It’s strange,” Nikolai rubbed her hand in his, “You started having a far better positive outlook since everything went downhill.”

She smiled. “I learned how to hide how I truly felt from the best. Now more than ever, they need a Saint to hold their belief in, and I am the only one who can fill that role. Just as you are the only one who can hold the crown of Ravka if we intend to win this war.”

“You’re right,” he grabbed his cup of coffee and drank the remaining amount before continuing, “As you may know, next month is my birthday. I told my father I did not want to hold a celebration of any kind, but you know how he is. There will be a grand feast. You, me, my family, and all of the highest ranking officials sitting around a large table, stuffing ourselves to the brim with the vilest food imaginable.”

Alina smiled grimly. The thought of having to be anywhere near the King in a food setting was sickening enough — not taking into account the comments he would certainly give to any and all the women present. “I can't wait.”

After a moment of hesitation, she leaned down to press a short kiss on his lips, pulling back and watching the grin being held back as she spoke, “Now get some rest.”

As she exited the room, her eyes met Mal’s — they were vacant and distant like a true soldier’s, but she could feel that he had seen the interaction between them. A twinge of shame tickled down her throat, but she swallowed that down.

Alina went to her study and locked the door behind her, finding Aleksander to already be there waiting for her.

“They’re holding a banquet for Nikolai’s birthday next month,” she began, “The King and all of the generals will be there. I assume security would also be to a minimum, considering soldiers love to slack off and drink when they aren't invited to such a lavish events.”

Aleksander was lifeless and silent for only a moment before speaking, “Good,” a grin grew on his face as he stood up, “This is very good indeed. That will give us a large advantage. They will be caught off guard and slow to defend themselves from an attack.”

_An attack._ Alina’s heart sank at the realisation that just now hit her. Her mind would have fallen into a spiral if it had not been for the hand caressing her cheek. “What should I do until then?”

“Nothing,” he answered, “Keep those docile generals happy, but do not do anything that would raise suspicion. Then, find me on the night of the attack.”

It felt all too cruel at that moment — betraying Nikolai in a rare moment of weakness, but she would not use that as an excuse to back away now. She worked too hard to throw everything away at the last moment.

Alina tilted her head to the side so Aleksander’s lips could find where the _nichevo’ya_ had left their mark and kiss the skin, whispering to her, “You have done an excellent job, my little Alina.”

The day of the attack came quicker than she expected.

Her body was trembling during brunch with the Queen and several of her ladies — unable to even hold the teacup in her hand. Alina hid that unsteadiness by keeping the conversation up with the Queen — smiling and continuing to remain vague in question to her relationship with Nikolai.

“Oh, he cares a great deal for you,” the Queen insisted, “I haven’t seen my little boy look at anyone else the way he looks at you, my dear.”

A maid laughed and poked Alina’s side, “He looks at you the same way that little guard does.” The ladies all giggled amongst themselves, and she was quickly forgotten from the conversation.

_Mal_. There was a part of her that wanted to say goodbye to him or at least have a small conversation before his perception of her would be eternally distorted for what she allowed herself to become. But she didn't.

Instead, Alina spent the majority of the day next to Nikolai — his arm snaked around her waist as they discussed politics and the economy with generals and lords. All she had to do was smile and nod, but that only added on to her anxiety for what was going to happen, worried about the possibility of them being found out before the time came.

With every passing second, the feeling that she had to _do_ something for the attack’s efforts grew stronger, but she did not let her emotions get the best of her at the most crucial moment. She continued on as planned, smiling and nodding and adding in her own comments every so often to not gain unwanted attention.

When evening came, a white dress with a golden design was laid out for her on her bed.

“Looks like _someone_ wants you to wear this,” Tamar snickered as she undid the buttons on her kefta, “If things continue going the way they are, Nikolai might end up proposing to you during the banquet.”

“ _Great_.” Alina muttered, unable to hold back the revulsion in her voice. The actual act of marrying Nikolai was not the cause of disgust, but instead, it was what would follow after. A Grisha queen would have no respect in her country, especially if that Grisha could live forever.

As Tamar helped her into the dress, Alina looked at her through the mirror — that pleasant smile as she did her hair into a simple braid. She thought about what would happen to her and Tolya after the attack. Certainly, she could ensure their safety, but would they continue to follow her? They were good allies to have, and frankly, she had grown too close to them to have them abandoned her the way many would.

“ _Moi soverennyi,_ ” Tamar touched her cheek, “Are you okay?”

Alina turned to face her. “Will you always trust me? No matter what happens, no matter what decision I may make, will you follow me wherever I go?” She grabbed her hands. “Promise me you will never betray me or work against me in any capacity whatsoever.”

Tamar did not hesitate to bow and say, “I promise to remain by your side and serve you always.”

A faint smile formed on her lips. That could change after tonight, but for that moment, it was good enough for her to feel calm again.

When the time came for the banquet, Nikolai was by her side in an instant. “You look beautiful,” he smiled and looked around to make sure people were watching as he pulled her into a kiss, “You will make an excellent queen.”

“You may have too much faith in my ability.” she replied.

With their arms linked together, they went to the banquet hall. Immediately, the Queen was surrounding them, taking Nikolai into her arms and kissing his forehead. “Oh, I am so proud of you, my boy. Ever since you were young, you _never_ disappointed me. I hope you enjoy the feast we set up for you.”

To Alina’s surprise, she embraced her as well. “And you, my dear. You look so beautiful tonight,” the Queen pulled away to wipe a tear from her eye, “This is the exact same dress I wore the night I met my husband.”

She shot her eyes over to Nikolai, who only smiled and winked at her before diving into a conversation with one of the attendants about the food to be served.

After the greetings, everyone situated around the table. The moon had risen, and Alina could not speak — could not eat. It was fortunate Nikolai sat next to her and held up most of the conversations. All she had to do was nod at people’s anecdotes and try to keep herself from appearing frightened or _unusual_ in any sort of way.

But it quickly did not matter how _she_ looked as a fight between the royals broke out and everyone’s attention turned towards them — Vasily’s face growing redder with each passing moment. It calmed her nerves, but it also put her on edge when the call finally came.

In the heated atmosphere, no one but her heard the distant screaming and glass shattering from outside. Alina did not like the idea of sitting still, but there was no way for her to excuse herself without drawing attention. She would have to wait until tragedy struck.

And it was with Vasily that it happened. _Nichevo’ya_ crashed through the windows and tore into the older prince’s throat and splattered his blood all across the table. Nikolai ran to his mother’s side to protect her; the generals and lords cursed and screamed for help as one by one, they were slowly torn into pieces.

In the moment of mayhem, Alina took the opportunity to escape without notice. The _nichevo’ya_ had approached her, sniffed her ankle, and then darted forward where a soldier had appeared.

She snuck past her own guards before running out into the street — glass and blood littered the ground below her; houses engulfed in flames; the sound of screaming and gunshots deafening her.

In the middle of it all was Aleksander, hands behind his back and a smile forming when Alina ran to him breathlessly. Her hands reached to touch his face, fingers running down the scar that had been invisible to her for months. _It’s real,_ she thought, _it’s finally real._

“We did it,” Alina breathed out before her body collapsed against his in exhaustion, “I can't believe we actually did it.”

“It was all you,” Aleksander whispered, kissing her cheek where tears began to fall, “None of this would have had the chance in happening if it wasn't for you.”

The tears did not stop falling. But they were not tears of pain or sadness — it was relief. Relief that all of her work finally paid off; relief that she could finally feel the touch of the one person she truly loved without relying on secret powers.

There was still fear, of course. Alina did not know what would happen if someone saw her — holding on to the enemy as the realisation hits them that she was the cause of it all. She did not know what would happen when Mal and Nikolai found out. But with Aleksander’s lips pressed against hers, it did not matter. She would do whatever it took to ensure Ravka survived.

“Tonight, Ravka burns,” Aleksander caressed her cheek — his eyes shining with adoration and a hint of insanity, “But tomorrow, it will be ours for the ruling.”

**Author's Note:**

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